The Great Substack Shift: 2026 Predictions

Why some will leave, others will arrive, and the platform will never be the same

Oct 27, 2025

We’re watching a platform grow up in real time.

Every platform has this moment: the point where it stops being what it was and starts becoming something else. Facebook had it when it opened beyond college students. Instagram had it when shopping and Reels took over. YouTube had it when ‘be yourself and upload from your bedroom’ stopped being a viable path, and professional production quality became the baseline expectation.

Substack is having its moment right now.

This isn’t an article about tactics or trends. I’m not going to tell you to post more videos or optimize your headlines (though those things matter). This is about something bigger: a fundamental transformation in what Substack is, who it serves, and what it will become by 2026.

Some of you will hate parts of this article. That’s okay. The truth doesn’t require universal approval.

The Data Points to an Irreversible Shift

Let’s start with what we can see happening:

Instagram and YouTube creators are migrating to Substack—not as a side project, but as a primary platform. They’re bringing existing audiences, polished visual content, and a completely different approach to what “Substack content” looks like. Lifestyle creators with beautiful photography. Video-first storytellers. People who’ve never thought of themselves as “writers” in the traditional sense.

Gary Vaynerchuk is hiring Substack writers and strategists. When Gary V moves, it’s never subtle and never small. He sees where the crowd is going and he positions himself ahead of it. If he’s investing in Substack talent, he’s betting on mass-market scale.

Notes—initially positioned as a casual feature—has become the dominant growth engine. More on this in a moment, but the short version is: Substack is no longer “just a newsletter platform.” That ship sailed months ago.

The culture is changing faster than the early adopters realize. And change always creates winners and losers, arrivals and departures.

October 2025: Substack Shows Its Hand

A few days ago, Substack held a creator event at their New York headquarters. If you read between the lines of what was shared, you could see exactly where this is headed.

The numbers are striking:

500,000 new paid subscriptions and 32 million new free subscriptions in just three months—heavily driven by Notes and the app. One creator made $4,546 from a single note. Another fashion creator attributes 30% of her subscriber growth to consistent Notes activity.

But here’s what matters more than the numbers: how Substack describes itself now.

Their Head of ML and AI explained that the platform’s algorithm optimizes for “subscriptions and payments”—not scroll time, not ad impressions, not engagement for engagement’s sake. They position this as fundamentally different from traditional social media.

And technically, it is.

But let’s be honest with each other: an algorithm that optimizes for subscriptions is still an algorithm. It still decides what you see in your feed. It still rewards certain behaviors over others. It still requires you to “feed the feed” if you want to be discovered.

The word Substack kept using at the event? Community.

“Community as a growth strategy.” Restack others’ work. Endorse adjacent writers. Show up daily. Be a “curator and neighbor, not just a broadcaster.”

This is social media vocabulary. This is influencer playbook language. This is the exact terminology that platforms like Instagram use when they want creators to increase their activity.

And there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, but let’s not pretend it’s something else.

Substack is building a social platform with better incentives than Instagram or Twitter. That’s genuinely valuable. The alignment between creator success and platform success is real and meaningful. But it IS a social platform now.

The “just a newsletter tool for writers” era is over, and Substack’s own strategy sessions confirm it.

Notes is now THE primary driver of growth on Substack, outperforming even the Recommendations feature. App users are seven times more likely to engage with content. Over one million posts are discovered daily through the app.

These are not small numbers. This is not a side feature anymore.

But here’s the tension: Notes requires exactly what many people came to Substack to escape.

Daily presence. Engagement tactics. Strategic posting times. “Showing up” consistently. The language of performance and visibility. The subtle pressure to be active rather than simply good at your craft.

The success stories are real and impressive. That $4,546 note wasn’t a fluke—it’s proof that the system works. Creators who understand Notes are seeing measurable, sometimes dramatic growth in subscribers and revenue.

But this is the classic social media bargain: trade your attention and consistency for reach and discovery.

For some of you reading this, that trade feels worth it. You’re energized by community, you enjoy the daily interaction, you see Notes as a natural extension of your creative practice.

For others, this feels like a betrayal of Substack’s original promise. You came here to write thoughtfully, to own your audience, to escape the performative hamster wheel of social media. And now the platform that promised you freedom is asking you to perform again.

Both of these responses are completely valid.

The people who embrace Notes will thrive on the new Substack. The people who resist it will struggle or leave. Neither group is wrong—they just want different things from the platform.

And the platform itself? It’s making a bet that more people will embrace than resist. Based on the growth numbers, that bet seems to be paying off.

The “Ordinary People” Moment: Substack’s YouTube Phase

Substack is entering what I call its “democratization phase,” when the platform stops being the playground of already-famous writers and journalists and becomes a place where “ordinary people” can build real income.

This is the exact playbook YouTube used between 2010 and 2015:

Big names prove it’s financially viable (think PewDiePie making millions). The platform showcases these wins loudly and proudly. Thousands of people rush in, believing “if they can do it, I can too.” Some succeed spectacularly. Most don’t, but enough do to keep the narrative alive. The platform grows regardless.

Substack is at this exact inflection point right now.

The big names proved the model works at scale. Now comes the next chapter: showing that “ordinary” creators can succeed too.

That $4,546-from-one-note story? That’s not an accident, it’s a signal. Substack wants you to believe you could be next. And statistically, some of you reading this will be.

But let’s be honest about the math, because you deserve the full picture:

YouTube’s democratization worked partly because the barrier to earning was relatively low: get views, get ad revenue. The connection was direct and fairly immediate. Go viral once, make money that week.

Substack’s barrier is fundamentally higher: you need to convince people to pay you monthly for your thoughts, your expertise, your perspective. That’s a completely different game.

It requires:

A specific, valuable niche (not “I write about life,” but “I help working parents navigate public school systems”)
Consistent quality over months or years (not one viral hit, but sustained excellence)
Building genuine trust (people don’t subscribe to strangers; they subscribe to voices they believe in)
Standing out in an increasingly crowded space (more creators = more noise = harder to be heard)

Will “ordinary people” make good money on Substack in 2026?

Yes. Absolutely yes.

Will it be easy?

Absolutely not.

Will most people who try this succeed?

No—just like YouTube, just like podcasting, just like every creative platform that came before.

But here’s the thing: that’s not necessarily bad news.

Even if only 5-10% of new creators build sustainable income on Substack, that’s still potentially thousands of people who found a better path than the ad-driven, algorithm-dependent grind of traditional social media. These are people who own their audience, control their revenue, and build something genuinely portable.

The opportunity is real. The competition is also real. The platform is betting you’ll chase the dream anyway—and they’re probably right.

The question isn’t whether everyone will succeed. The question is whether YOU are willing to do what it takes.

Are you willing to show up consistently for a year with minimal results? Are you willing to refine your niche until it’s sharp enough to cut through noise? Are you willing to learn Notes, even if you’d rather just write? Are you comfortable with the possibility that you might invest heavily and not reach your goals?

If yes—if you’re genuinely willing—then the opportunity ahead of you in 2026 is significant.

If not—if those trade-offs sound exhausting or impossible—that’s equally valid. There’s no moral imperative to build a Substack business. But then we should be clear-eyed: this might not be your platform anymore.

The Great Sorting: Who Stays, Who Leaves, Who Arrives

Every platform evolution creates migration patterns. People vote with their attention, their energy, and ultimately, their presence or absence. Substack’s transformation will be no different.

Who’s leaving:

The “pure newsletter” purists who came to Substack explicitly because it wasn’t social media. Writers who are allergic to self-promotion and performance. People who wanted simplicity—a clean writing interface, an email list, nothing more. Those who feel the original promise has been fundamentally broken.

If you’re in this group, I understand the frustration. You were sold a vision of “just write, no games, no algorithms” and now you’re watching that vision morph into something that looks suspiciously like every other platform. Your disappointment is legitimate.

Who’s arriving:

Visual creators with established audiences on Instagram or YouTube who see Substack as the next frontier. Lifestyle influencers who understand that owned audiences are more valuable than rented reach. Entrepreneurs using Substack as a top-of-funnel content engine for their businesses. People who see the money being made and want their share—and there’s nothing wrong with wanting that.

If you’re in this group, welcome. You’re going to find Substack’s model refreshing compared to the chaos of ad-based platforms. But understand: the culture here was built by writers who value depth over virality. Respect that foundation even as you bring new energy.

Who’s adapting:

Writers who embrace hybrid formats: essays with embedded video, photo essays, multimedia storytelling. Creators who see this evolution as exactly that: evolution, not betrayal. People willing to learn new skills (Notes strategy, visual content, community building) while maintaining their core voice and values.

If you’re in this group, you’re positioned for significant growth in 2026. You have the flexibility to navigate change without losing yourself in it.

All three groups are making rational decisions based on their values, circumstances, and goals.

The mistake would be judging any of these paths as inherently right or wrong. The writer who leaves Substack because it betrayed their expectations isn’t “giving up”—they’re honoring their boundaries. The influencer who arrives with a growth mindset isn’t “selling out”—they’re recognizing opportunity. The established writer who adapts isn’t “compromising”—they’re evolving.

Different people, different choices, different outcomes. That’s how it should be.

The Video Question: Substack’s Existential Fork in the Road

Here’s the billion-dollar question Substack is quietly wrestling with right now: How hard should we push video?

The data clearly shows that video content performs well on the platform. Creators are experimenting with it. The app supports it. The technology is there.

But if Substack goes all-in on video—if it tries to become a true competitor to YouTube, Instagram Reels, or TikTok—it enters a completely different competitive landscape.

YouTube has two decades of infrastructure, recommendation algorithms refined by billions of hours of watch time, and ad revenue models that actually work for creators at scale. Instagram and TikTok have the virality mechanics down to a science. These platforms do video extraordinarily well, backed by massive resources and technical teams.

The danger for Substack is becoming mediocre at everything instead of excellent at one thing.

A platform that’s okay at video, decent at writing, not bad at community, and fine at newsletters is... just another platform. It has no distinctive competitive advantage. It becomes replaceable.

The alternative path: stay text-first, treat video as supplementary.

Position video as a way to deepen connection with subscribers, not as the primary content format. Keep the focus on long-form writing, thoughtful essays, in-depth analysis—the things that don’t work well on Instagram or YouTube because they require too much attention.

This path preserves what makes Substack genuinely valuable: it’s the place for ideas that need space to breathe.

My prediction? Substack will try to have it both ways: expand video capabilities while maintaining the “we’re about writing” narrative. This middle path is understandable from a business perspective (maximize optionality, serve multiple creator types), but it risks diluting the brand.

By the end of 2026, we’ll know which direction they truly chose. The answer will be visible in how the homepage looks, what content the algorithm promotes, and which creators Substack showcases as success stories.

If the featured creators are primarily video-first lifestyle influencers, we’ll know video won. If they’re still essayists and long-form writers who occasionally use video, we’ll know writing held its ground.

Which future would I bet on? Honestly, I’m not sure. But I do know this: the choice Substack makes here will determine whether it becomes a category leader or just another platform fighting for attention.

Let’s talk about what almost no one wants to acknowledge directly: brand partnerships are about to flood Substack.

Right now, we’re in the early stages—sponsored sections in newsletters, occasional brand mentions, writers partnering with companies whose products they genuinely use. It feels organic, selective, and generally tasteful.

That’s about to change dramatically.

By mid-2026, I predict we’ll see:

Sponsored newsletters becoming common (not just sponsored sections, but entire issues underwritten by brands)
Product placement in lifestyle and wellness content
Affiliate link strategies becoming sophisticated and widespread
Creator-brand partnerships that blur the line between editorial and advertising
Substack itself facilitating these connections (think YouTube’s BrandConnect, but for newsletters)

Some creators will thrive in this environment. They’ll build lucrative partnerships while maintaining their editorial integrity. Their readers will appreciate transparent recommendations. Revenue will flow. Everyone wins.

Others will struggle with the ethics of it—or outright reject it. They’ll see brand partnerships as fundamentally compromising the reader relationship. They’ll watch peers monetize in ways that feel wrong to them. The cognitive dissonance will be painful.

And here’s what’s going to cause real friction: Substack’s culture will shift from scrappy indie publication to professional media operation.

The vibe will change. The expectations will change. What once felt like a community of independent writers will start to feel more like a content marketplace. The romantic notion of “just me and my readers” will give way to “me, my readers, my sponsors, and my growth strategy.”

This isn’t inherently good or bad. It’s different, and different always creates tension.

My prediction: we’ll see 3-5 major controversies around brand partnerships in 2026. A beloved writer will partner with a controversial company. A “trusted voice” will be revealed to have undisclosed affiliate relationships. A seemingly authentic recommendation will turn out to be paid placement.

Each controversy will spark fierce debate: Where’s the line? How much transparency is enough? Can you maintain credibility while taking brand money?

The platform will respond with policies, guidelines, disclosure requirements. Some will call it too little, too late. Others will say it’s unnecessary regulation of creative freedom.

Welcome to what happens when a platform scales. The innocence of the early days—where everyone knew everyone and shared values were implicit—evaporates. Rules, norms, and boundaries have to be explicitly negotiated.

If you’re a creator reading this: start thinking now about where your boundaries are. What would you partner with? What wouldn’t you? How will you disclose? How will you maintain trust?

These questions are coming whether you’re ready or not.

On Leaving vs. Staying: A Personal Philosophy

So what do you do with all of this information?

Some of you will decide to leave Substack. Not out of anger or drama, but because it’s no longer serving what you need. You came here for one thing, it became another thing, and you’re making a clean exit. That’s a completely legitimate choice.

Leaving on principle is valid. If Substack’s direction conflicts with your core values—if you fundamentally oppose social media dynamics, if you can’t stomach the brand partnership direction, if the Notes requirement feels like a bridge too far—then leaving is the right call. Honor your boundaries.

Others will leave not on principle but because they can’t adapt. The new Substack requires skills they don’t have or aren’t willing to develop. That’s also valid. Not everyone wants to learn video editing, Notes strategy, or community management on top of their actual craft. Choosing to invest your energy elsewhere is wisdom, not failure.

And then new people will come and absolutely thrive in this new version of Substack. They’ll love Notes. They’ll build brand partnerships with integrity. They’ll create multimedia content that deepens reader connection. They’ll look at all of this as opportunity, not compromise.

They’re not wrong for seeing it that way.

This is the natural cycle of platform evolution:

Early adopters build the culture → Platform grows beyond them → Early adopters leave or adapt → Mass market arrives → Platform matures into something different → The cycle begins again elsewhere.

You’ve probably lived through this cycle before. Maybe you left Twitter when it changed. Maybe you quit Instagram when it stopped being about photography. Maybe you watched your favorite subreddit deteriorate as it grew.

The pattern is familiar because it’s universal.

Here’s what I want you to understand: you don’t have to like what’s happening. You’re allowed to mourn what Substack was. You’re allowed to be frustrated that another platform is following the growth-at-all-costs playbook. You’re allowed to feel disappointed.

But pretending it won’t happen—pretending that Substack will somehow resist the gravity that pulls all platforms toward mainstream scale—is denial.

Choose consciously, not reactively.

If you’re staying: commit to learning the new game. Don’t stay while quietly resenting every change. Adapt deliberately or you’ll just be miserable.

If you’re leaving: do it cleanly. Take your audience with you (that’s the beautiful part—you can). Find a platform that aligns with what you need now. Maybe that’s Ghost (Lucy Werner is a great example), maybe that’s a self-hosted blog, maybe it’s something that doesn’t exist yet.

If you’re arriving: bring your energy, respect the existing culture, and build something great. You’re not crashing the party—you’re the next wave. That’s how growth works.

All three paths are legitimate responses to legitimate circumstances.

The only mistake is assuming nothing will change and then feeling blindsided when it does.

What 2026 Actually Looks Like (Predictions)

Let me put my cards on the table. Here’s what I think we’ll see by this time next year:

Substack will be significantly more visual. Not just occasional photos in essays, but native visual storytelling, photo-first creators, video integration that actually works smoothly. The app will prioritize visual content in the feed because that’s what drives engagement.

We’ll see 3-5 major brand partnership controversies. Creators partnering with questionable companies. Disclosure failures. Authenticity questions. Each will spark heated debate and force Substack to create clearer policies.

Algorithm accusations will intensify. Even though Substack’s algorithm optimizes for subscriptions rather than ad impressions, creators will complain about “reach” and “suppression” and “the algorithm playing favorites.” Some complaints will be legitimate. Most will be misunderstandings of how algorithms work.

A “back to basics” counter-movement will emerge within Substack. Creators intentionally rejecting Notes, video, and growth tactics in favor of pure long-form writing. They’ll position themselves as holdouts against the tide. Some will build loyal audiences specifically because of this stance.

Several prominent creators will exit with “why I’m leaving Substack” manifestos. These will be thoughtful, well-written pieces about values, direction, and disappointment. They’ll go viral. People will debate them intensely. Substack will keep growing anyway.

Overall growth will continue regardless of criticism. More creators, more subscribers, more revenue. The business fundamentals will be strong even as cultural tensions simmer.

The platform will become noticeably more mainstream and less niche. What once felt like an insider community will feel like a public square. That lost intimacy will hurt for early adopters, but it’s the price of scale.

Some of the original magic will be lost; new opportunities will be created. This is always the trade-off. You can’t scale without changing. The question is whether what you gain is worth what you lose.

By December 2026, we’ll look back at October 2025 and recognize it as the turning point—the moment when Substack’s transformation became irreversible.

The Only Mistake is Assuming Nothing Will Change

We’re near the end now, so let me bring this full circle.

The only mistake—the only real error you can make here—is assuming Substack will stay the same and then feeling victimized when it doesn’t.

The platform will evolve with or without you. It will chase growth because that’s what platforms do. It will make decisions that optimize for scale, even when those decisions alienate parts of the early community.

Your power lies not in stopping that evolution, but in choosing how you respond to it.

If you’re a creator who’s been on Substack for years: this is your moment to decide. Do you adapt and grow with the platform, or do you preserve your original vision elsewhere? Neither answer is wrong, but indecision will hurt you.

If you’re a creator considering Substack: understand what you’re walking into. This isn’t the quiet writer’s platform of 2020 anymore. It’s a social, video-friendly, brand-partnership-welcoming, growth-focused platform that happens to be very good at newsletters. If that’s what you need, great. If not, know that going in.

If you’re a reader: your creators are making hard choices right now. Some will evolve in ways you love. Others will change in ways that feel wrong to you. Your loyalty doesn’t require you to follow anyone anywhere. Support the voices that serve you; let go of the ones that don’t.

The great realignment is happening whether we like it or not.

By this time next year, Substack will look meaningfully different than it does today. The community will have shifted. New names will dominate. Old voices will have moved on. The platform’s culture, tone, and norms will have evolved in ways we can predict but not fully control.

So here’s my final question for you: Where will YOU be when the realignment settles?

Not where you wish things were. Not where you think they should be. But where you actually will be, given what you know now about where this is all heading.

That answer—honest, clear-eyed, grounded in reality rather than hope—will tell you everything you need to know about what to do next.

The transformation is already in motion. Your job now is simply to decide what role you’ll play in it.

Or whether you’ll play at all.

Both are valid. Both are powerful.

Just choose consciously.

I’d love to hear your thoughts: Are you staying, leaving, or adapting? What does 2026 look like from where you sit?